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even though I had been waiting for it.
    The chaplain didn’t see me, a still figure in the deep shadows. He walked to the front of the chapel and kneeled at the rail, his head bent in prayer. What a hypocrite, I thought. Did he really expect God to sanction him poisoning Mother?
    After some time the chaplain heaved himself to his feet, leaning heavily on the altar rail. He had grown fatter than ever, wearing his stolen food around his middle like a roll of guilt. Then he gave a great sigh and blew the candle out.
    The chapel was plunged into darkness. I heard him lumber down the aisle towards me and pause at the door. I held my breath, willing him to leave quickly. The door banged shut and he was gone. His footsteps faded.
    I heard only the sound of the wind in the hour that followed, and once I was startled by a mouse scuttling across the chapel floor.
    At last I thought the chaplain must be asleep. I bent and picked up my lantern, which I had darkened on three sides so I would not give myself away with too much light. I stretched and slipped out of the chapel. There was a torch guttering in the porch and I lit my candle by that. Then I crept towards the chaplain’s chambers. My heart was hammering now and my mouth unpleasantly dry. I hesitated for a moment, grappling with my failing courage.
    The latch was cold in my hand. I eased it slowly up, doing my best to make no noise. Then I pushed the heavy door open. If it had creaked, I would have fled at that point. But it did not. It swung soundlessly open, and so I crept forward into the dark room.
    The air was thick and stale. I could hear the chaplain’s grunting snores coming from the inner room. It was a disgusting but reassuring sound. There could be no doubt he was asleep.
    No moonlight penetrated this first room, and so I lifted the lantern, aiming its narrow beam of light onto the chaplain’s writing table. There were rolls of parchment, a couple of quills, and a bottle of ink, but no keys. I scanned the walls looking for nails they could hang upon. I felt in the wall niches, but there was nothing. My heart sank. The keys must be in the chaplain’s bedchamber.
    As I turned to creep into the lion’s den itself, I stumbled over a chair. I grasped it and prevented it falling, but in the process it made a scraping noise against the flagstones.
    The chaplain’s snores stopped abruptly. I quickly shuttered the lantern and stood stock still, hardly daring to breathe. I could feel my heart knocking against my ribs.
    After a long moment, I heard the chaplain sigh and roll over in bed. There was a short pause and the snores began again, more quietly and regularly this time. As I moved towards the bedchamber again, I found I was shaking. I breathed deeply and glided noiselessly forward. There was some moonlight in here, showing me the huge, blanket-muffled form of the sleeping chaplain. One flabby white arm was flung up over his face.
    I shone the lantern onto the walls, taking care not to allow any light to fall upon the sleeping man.
    There. Suddenly I saw them. They were lying on a small chest next to his bed. I took a step closer to him. And then another. I put out my hand and took hold of my prize. There was a faint clinking as I picked them up. It sounded loud in my ears but the chaplain did not stir.
    I crept backwards out of the room, crossed the outer chamber and then I was out in the fresh air, flying across the inner court. Abandoning my lantern at the foot of the Lady Tower, I fumbled with the bunch of keys, searching for the right one. It was the biggest and the newest key and it turned easily in the lock. I tore up the spiral staircase, heedless now of noise, and hammered on the topmost door.
    ‘Mother!’ I cried. ‘Mother, it is I, Eleanor!’
    This key was harder to find and fit to the lock in the deep darkness of the stairway. But at last the lock clicked back and I flung open the door.
    I could see Mother like a deeper shadow in the